They were all crowded around the window with the best view. "You know he's afraid to go in the pen with anybody but me," Jane said, looking at the dog with irritation. "The big sissy."

“Poor old Willard is going to be one constipated doggy by the end of the week, aren't you, boy?" Mike said, grabbing Willard's ears and wrestling his head around — to Willard's absolute delight.

“Mike, please don't talk about the dog's digestive tract," Jane said with a shudder. Mike had given the dog a banana a week earlier, with results Jane was afraid she was never going to be able to forget.

“Come on, Mom," Katie nagged, tossing her hair dramatically. Katie was at the age that nearly all her conversations with her mother involved hair-tossing, flouncing, and/or door-slamming. Often all three. Jane had to keep telling herself that someday Katie would be a nice young woman and a wonderful companion to her — if they both survived her teenage years. "We won't go any farther than our own yard."

“This week it isn't our yard. I've rented it to the movie company. Part of what they're paying for is us staying out of their way."

“Aw, Mom. Let them go," Mike said. "They've got a security guy to keep people out. He won't let them get in the way.”

Instead of being grateful for his older brother's help, Todd turned on him furiously. "Stop being so. . so. . big!" Todd sputtered. Jane suspected he'd rejected a number of adjectives that were popular among sixth grade boys, but wouldn't have gone over well at home. "Just 'cause you don't have to go to school tomorrow and the next day! Mom! Please can't I please stay home, too?"

“Todd, you know you can't. But they'll still be working when you get home from school anyway. You'll get to see plenty."